Prelude I
by lynne z
Summary: Goren's POV after F.P.S, a prequel of sorts for my first fic. please review.


"_It's Neil. It's about yearning. He…he misses his partner."_

Shit.

When the hell did this happen?

Shit.

If someone told me three years ago before meeting my new partner, whose handshake was far too firm for a woman of her stature, that I would end up completely and utterly…no.

I knew I liked her within ten minutes of meeting her, after the first snide comment fell from her lips and I responded with a hesitant, but amused smile. This is probably why I spent our first months as partners provoking her, seeing how far she'd let me push her and, in some instances, myself. It's childish, I know, but I needed to test her to see if she would throw her hands in the air and run the other way.

But she never did, whether out of genuine want or pure obstinacy, I'm not sure I'll ever know, not that it really matters anymore. She learned to trust that I wasn't pushing her out of an investigation, while I learned that I needed her to counter my theories.

See, Nicole was right; I don't like being contradicted or wrong. It still hurts when she calls me on something, but I know she's doing it out of respect and because she cares, otherwise I doubt she'd bother.

So we found an amicable rhythm with each other, which grew into a genuine concern for the other's well being and then it became a real friendship.

The confines of our partnership are shifting again into something that I've yet to find a label or explanation for.

Academically, I can reason that it's not love, not really, but sheer proximity mixed with the basic need for closeness and understanding. It is the one thing that makes us all so undeniably the same and horribly predictable.

Of course, I can also counter then that Bishop should be a perfectly suitable, even if temporary, replacement, but all of us know that she will never be my partner. That's where the longing comes into play and thus the proof that it has nothing to do with proximity.

I miss _my_ partner.

I wasn't anticipating this. I wasn't anticipating needing her to be there, to shoot down my ideas when my own feelings had clouded my judgment, or to alleviate the tension with her sarcasm. I miss having someone there who knows where my mind is headed and who, with out effort, can still surprise me. I've seen enough where very little surprises or unnerves me; it still angers me, but not surprises. All she has to do is say one little off handed comment and for a few seconds I'm completely amused either because she was trying to make me so or by how she smirks at making me uncomfortable.

I miss _her_.

So here I stand in the maternity ward as I watch the last of her family leave her room and head toward the nursery to welcome a new life into the family, whom she has given them.

I can't get my feet to move. I'm afraid that it won't be my partner I find on the other side of that door, but the woman beneath her; the wife who lost her husband, the sister or daughter, the mother who isn't a mother.

I force myself to move, if only by the silly need to be in her presence and to make sure she will be okay.

She seems smaller than normal in the white hospital bed. She lays, her eyes drifting, with one hand on her abdomen and the other draped over her ribs.

When she notices me I can tell she's surprised to see me there.

"Hi," she says.

"Hey," I say, walking shyly up to the side of her bed. "How are you feeling?"

I know the question is inadequate, but what else is there to ask?

She carefully considers her answer and I can see her scrolling through the events of the last twenty-four hours and past nine months.

"Sore," she says with a wry smile.

We both know she doesn't just mean her body, but neither of us will venture any further down that road.

"It's nice of you to come," she continues. "You didn't have to."

I want to say _yes, yes I did_, but settle for, "I know. I won't stay long…I just wanted to see how you were…and it's not like I'd be sleeping anyway."

She returns my teasing smile with one of her own.

"You should go see him."

See, its little things like that that throw me through a loop with her. I have no claim or right to see this child or to wedge myself between the aunts and uncles already gazing through the glass, but yet she offers me the chance to be a part of it.

"Maybe…" is all I get out, though we both know I won't go. "What's his name?"

"Nathan Alexander…and Nathan was my contribution not Alexander just for the record."

"It's a good name…I should probably let you rest. I'll talk to you soon."

She nods and I turn to leave.

"Goren?" I hear a slight waver in her voice, which I know she trusts me to ignore.

"Yeah, Eames?"

"Um…" she hesitates. "Could…could you turn off some of the lights on your way? It's too bright in here to sleep."

I nod and leave her in the dim lit room.


End file.
